You Aren't My Sunshine
by Eat a Taco
Summary: All Lizzie wants is yogurt, a road trip, and a little sunshine to wash her troubles away. But when she gets in the convertible with Jane and two random strangers, the stress increases tenfold. Between thunderstorms and Will Darcy, no one can see the sun.
1. Break Out the Rusty Sporks

**Summary: **_All Lizzie wants is yogurt, a road trip, and a little sunshine to wash her troubles away. But when she gets in the convertible with Jane and two random strangers, the stress increases tenfold. And between thunderstorms and Will Darcy, no one can see the sun._

**Disclaimer:** Mr. Darcy may live in my head, but he was not born there. (Don't think about that too long or it becomes slightly perverted.) He and the entire cast of Pride and Prejudice belong entirely to Jane Austen. Nor do I own the company Yoplait Light. I do, however, own a rusty spork. I am slightly proud of this fact.

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**You Aren't My Sunshine**

**Chapter One**

_Break Out the Rusty Sporks, I've Got a Plan_

"Listen. If you make me pay interest on this total crap late fee, I will _take a rusty spork and use it to cut off your –"_

"Bethie!" I turn around, covering the mouthpiece with my hand. I blow my bangs out of my eyes and reach for the yogurt that's balancing on the back of the sofa. "What are you doing?"

I roll my eyes. "Just settling a few money matters, dearie" I say, "no worries." Jane, my roommate, gives me a look and puts her hands on her hips. "Now go back outside" I continue, plastic spoon scraping the bottom of the yogurt container. "We need more Yoplait Light."

I have decided to go on a diet consisting entirely of Yoplait Light. I mean, the advertisements _say_ that it's good for you ...

"Liz ..."

"Shut up!" I say, turning back around, "I'm on the phone!"I return to my conversation with the oh-so-friendly 'Charlie from PR.' "But the thing is, it _wasn't late."_ I sift through the multiple bills spilling off of our coffee table, "we sent you guys the money, it was just the goddamn postal service ..."

"It doesn't matter when they came in, Miss Bennet, but the date on your return—"

"You are violating my rights as an American citizen! Do you need me to review the sixth amendment for you?"

"The right to a speedy and public trial?"

Come on.

No one ever calls me on that.

"Shut up."

"Additionally, Miss Bennet, about the interest on this fee ..."

"Oh my God," I cling the receiver and start to get up, heading for the window. "Listen, Charlie-from-PR, it's been really great talking to you, but I'm going to have to call you back. I think my wife is about to have a baby."

And with that, I hang up the phone. I then walk over to our bookshelf, push it slightly out of the way, and yank the cord out of the wall.

"Jane," I say, turning around and doing my best to sound like what Christopher Columbus probably sounded like. Except not Spanish. Which probably means I sound completely different. But whatever. "I say it's about time we get out of here."

She just stares at me. And, ever-so-slowly, her hands reach up and she starts tugging on a piece of her hair, a nervous habit she's had since I met her when we were freshman at Colgate. The girl's a nervous wreck. Really, she is. She just doesn't like to show it.

She therefore contents herself with ripping out half the hair on her pretty-little head.

"What do you mean, get out of here?"

"Jane," I say, taking in her slim frame and pretty face, lightly scattered with freckles, "there aren't many definitions to choose from."

She bites her lip.

"Come on," I get up, loosening the string on my sweatpants, figuring I should change out of my pajamas and shower sometime before 7:00 pm. Running my fingers through my hair I open the fridge, fishing around for another yogurt.

Damn it, the stuff is addicting.

"Stop being such a wimp," I continue, "three months is all I ask. Hm? Maybe a little less. We'll buy a cheap baby blue convertible, we'll go to baseball games, meet some guys ..."

Jane seems to pale at the idea of my last suggestion.

"That Collins dipwad isn't still following you, is he?" Jane looks down and scuffs her feet together. "Jane! What the hell! Call the police!"

"I just ... you know. I don't want to cause any trouble ..."

"He's a _creep,"_ I say, pulling on a pair of mismatched socks I found next to the fridge, "and if you don't call the police, I will. Say he's been stalking me, or something. Wouldn't be that hard to believe, actually, we did date that one time ..."

"You threw a Boston Cream Pie at him."

"Yeah, well, he was an ass." Jane looks down again, continuing to pull on her hair. "Come on," I say, "this is just the escape you need, and you know it."

She looks at me for a long moment.

"Fine." Just as I'm about to jump up and whoop in joy, she hold up her hand. "On one condition." I wait patiently. "I've met a guy."

–xxx–

"Mr. Darcy?"

I glance up.

"What is it?"

"The new poll results are in." The new secretary – Megan, or Morgan, or something – walks in, her hands shaking. She tries to hide it as she places the sheets of paper my desk, but it's hopeless. If she doesn't calm down by next week, she's fired. God, isn't there anyone as good as Amy in the world? Why do women have to go off and get pregnant all the time?

I pick up the papers, and she hovers in front of my desk a moment. I glance at her again, and she bites her lip.

"You can go now."

"Right," she says, stumbling over the word in her rush to say it, "right. I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Darcy."

"Yes, I know," I say, and she turns and rushes from the room.

Shoving the poll results aside, I glance over the numbers for the quarter and suppress a groan. We were down. Again. No one down in marketing is doing their fucking jobs right. I pick up the phone and dial seven. Stacy picks up almost immediately.

"Yes sir?"

"Tell the goons that work for you that if they don't get their asses in gear, the company is going under, and their jobs are going to be the ones I'm cutting first."

"Is that true, sir?"

"Does it matter?" I shake my head and rub my temple. "Just get them working on some promotion, all right? No one's spending anything. We're not going to make a profit unless we work at it." I hang up the phone and groan, putting my hands on my head as I spin my chair around and look out though the long windows that line my wall. The city stretches out in front of me, screaming.

I turn back to my desk. Things were too damn busy and complicated. "I need a vacation."

–xxx–

So. Jane had met a guy.

Of course she had.

Not that I minded. As long as it got her away from the city, away from her worries, and away from Collins-The-Boston-Cream-Pie-Sketch-Ball, I was happy. I could deal with guys. For the most part, they were fun creatures to be around if you avoided sex. And since he was Jane's date, that would probably be easy enough.

So I said yes. It was an easy enough term to comply with, and knowing Jane, he'd be a good guy to have around. Being stunningly beautiful and everything gave her a lot of choices, and she usually ended up choosing pretty good ones. Minus Collins. Don't really know what happened with him.

He's not even _good looking._

In fact, I was so concerned about her and happy that she had agreed to come that I even agreed to the term of letting Jane's date bring a friend along. He had apparently begged about how his friend was in a horrible need of a vacation and that things in his life had been so busy and complicated and stressful he could hardly handle them.

Knowing Jane, this Charles guy probably said something in passing along the lines of "Would it be all right if I brought along a friend? He needs a vacation." Jane's just too nice for her own good. Really, she is. But I love her. She doesn't mind if I leave my dirty socks all over our apartment, so life is good.

We walk down the street towards the used car lot that's just around the corner from our apartment. We're meeting Charles and his friend there today so we can pick out a car for the trip. I had already been down there earlier today, and had one in mind. A crappy powder-blue convertible that looks like it's from 1802.

It will be perfect.

Two men are waiting in the lot for us. One is a redhead in jeans and a polo who waves jauntily at us. The other is standing a little off to the side, wearing a suit and muttering away into a crackberry.

Blackberries are ridiculous inventions that are addictive and expensive and have no use in the universe. Thus, the nickname. Get yourself a regular cell phone. That way you save yourself money and a lot of useless conversations.

And what's the man doing in a full suit? It's 72 degrees out.

Dumbass.

Jane bounds up next to the redhead in the polo and gestures to him like she's the woman on _The Price is Right. _"This is Charles," Jane says, and the man holds out his hand.

"Hi," he says, "call me Charlie."

I freeze. A piece of hair falls out of my ponytail, and I stare at him. I know that voice.

"Is everything all right?"

I point my finger accusingly. Some people would call me melodramatic. But this is dreadfully important. Really, it is. "YOU!"

Jane looks at me, wide-eyed, and Dumbass-In-A-Suit glaces disapprovingly over his shoulder. Charlie seems equally confused, the little prick, but it's slowly starting to dawn on him.

"What?" Jane asks.

"Your new boyfriend is the prick from PR!"

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**A/N: **Oh, the drama of the last sentence. *dun dun dun* (not) Well. Isn't it a beautiful day. I've kind of been gone from the fanfiction circuit for, um, years, but I must say I've gotten better at writing during my hiatus, if that's any consolation. I've also become a tad bit obsessed with Pride and Prejudice and Emma and Persuasion and Jane Austen in general during the break, and after being religiously in love with Darcy and Colin Firth and all sorts of things, I decided 'hey, why not give a fanfic a shot?'

So here I am. I hope it's not so dreadfully horrible that it moves you to tears. But if it does, feel free to tell me. If it doesn't, feel free to tell me. In a really sexy awesome bitchin' REVIEW.


	2. You Get the Tax Collector, I Get the Car

**Disclaimer:** As insanely sick as it would be to be a 233-year-old literary genius, I am not. I own nothing, my friends. Nothing. *tragic stab*

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**

**C****hapter Two  
**_You Get the Tax Collector, I Get the Car_

"He can't come."

The sun beats down in a pestering-little-brother sort of way, so I take my hair out of the pony and shake it, filling it with cool air and breeze before tossing it behind my shoulder. I hate my hair. With a passion. I touch it and fiddle with it and play with it at least thirty times a day.

Man in Suit looks over his shoulder at me and rolls his eyes.

Well _fine._ He needs to get over himself. Nothing can hurt me, anyway. I had my Yoplait Light this morning. I am therefore _invincible._

"Lizzie ..."

"No. Really. He can't." I look at him and scowl, tearing my eyes away from Mr. Crackberry. Who's all tall and handsome with dark hair that curls a little at the ends. I'm probably just overreacting about the suit thing because I just realized that I'll be spending two months with Charlie from PR. _"You_ are the dipwad who sparked this getaway in the first place."

Oh, but _come on._ You don't wear suits. It's just not right.

Charles bows mockingly. "I'm proud that you fine ladies shall hold such an event in my honor." Oh, ha, ha. How amusing. I'm not sure if he's totally aware of how much this is going to completely ruin my vacation -slash- life. He sees the expression on my face, however, and replaces the smirk with sympathy. "I promise, I won't say anything about my job while we're on the trip. Really," he says, seeing my face. "In reality, I'm quite a mushroom."

"A mushroom?"

"I'm a fun guy!"

Oh, my God Jane. You sure know how to pick them. I give her a 'you have got to be kidding' look, to which she responds with a 'shut up I like him!' look, to which I raise my eyes to heavens in a 'I can't believe you're my best friend' gesture.

"Shut up," she says, and I shrug and hold up my hands in innocence.

"I didn't say anything!"

Charlie looks back and forth between us. "I'm pretty sure I just witnessed a silent conversation."

Jane scowls. "Yes. There was a lot of swearing involved."

"Mmm," I say, "we do it sometimes because I have brain tourettes and we don't like to offend the people we're standing around -slash- talking about." Jane glares again, and I smirk smugly at her. This trip was my idea. I am going to have fun at everyone's expense.

Charlie just laughs. "Over there is my friend Will Darcy. He just came over here from Manhattan to manage his sister firm ..."

Ew. Manhattan.

"Liz," Jane says with a hint of motherly no-nonsense to her tone. "I'm sure he's nice."

"Ten bucks he's a Yankees fan."

Jane just sighs.

"Good day," Will Darcy says in a monotone, walking over as he closes his crackberry. Half a second later, he opens it again, thumbs flying over the button, reading an email with a concerned look on his face.

I don't understand how people can read anything those things say. The words are like ... millimeters high.

"Busy day?" I ask, watching Crackberry -slash- Will Darcy loosen his tie. Serves him right. What's he thinking? We're going to a used car lot on a sunny Saturday, not dinner at the Ritz.

Like I could afford the Ritz.

Maybe he's trying to prove his superiority

Well, I won't fall for it. Any poor bastard can rent a tux.

"Will?" Charlie says, and Crackberry looks up.

"What?"

He has a British accent. For whatever reason, I get a feeling that British men think that just because they have an accent, they're something special to American girls. Like "oh, look at me, I have an accent and am therefore the sexiest thing to ever step into your life."

Which is so untrue.

I mean really.

Charlie gestures to me. "Busy day?" I repeat, and his dark eyes bore into mine for a long moment.

"No, actually," he says, "just dreadfully useless. Don't know how Charles dragged me into going on a trip with ... nevermind." He glowers and looks over my shoulder, reading a large billboard that I'm pretty sure is advertising Tampax.

Which is appropriate. Because he's definitely PMSing. Or something similar.

"Pleasure to meet you too," I smile. "Looks like you'll be a right little ball of sunshine."

Charlie snickers. Darcy doesn't react, looking stoic.

"So," I say, rubbing my hands together, "about this car ..."

–xxx–

My Blackberry buzzes in my pocket again.

_Darcy –_

_Should we shoot a new one, or run the old promo in both?_

– _Stacy_

I deliberate briefly. A new promo would cost money, but I can't remember how successful the last campaign went ...

If only these people could shut up about the goddamn road trip. I don't need a vacation, I need time alone to think and sort out all my goddamn problems. And maybe remember the numbers. God, if I just knew the numbers, I could solve everything without everyone asking and answering questions ...

I look over at the Bennet girl. She's ignoring me, playing with her hair. No woman's every done that to me before. It's slightly refreshing, to say the least. And completely bothersome. Charlie said I would like her. She's hardly pretty, for the love of God. And I wanted a vacation, not a blind date. The man is out of his mind. Now I'm going to be stuck with her as he obsesses over the pretty one.

She feels me looking at her and glances at me. I look back down, slightly surprised by her hard, unashamed gaze.

Who does she think she is? I suppress a groan when I realize I'm going to have to deal with her for the next two months. I have no idea how Charlie talked me into this.

_S –_

_Send list of pros and cons. Did old campaign work? Send numbers of last three shoots. Compare with Brian, if you must. Don't expand until absolutely necessary. Keep me posted. Will Cassie model again?_

– _D_

–xxx–

Just as I coax Charlie into the idea of the powder blue convertible, William Richer-Than-You Darcy walks over, closing the crackberry with an almost pained look on his face. I smile, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, and his eyes sweep the car.

"This?"

"Yes, this." Force a smile, Liz. Force a smile. "Is there something wrong?"

His dark eyes find mine. I don't look away. "It's a pathetic excuse for a car." He turns around, and as his eyes scan the lot, the scowl on his face increases degrees of disgust. Apparently all the cars in Ernie's Discount Wonderlot were pathetic.

Who would've guessed?

"The crappy car is the essence of a good road trip," I raise my chin and cross my arms. Darcy seems to have decided to ignore me completely. He seems frozen in his snobbishness.

Is that a word?

"We're not buying a nice car. We just ... can't."

"Liz," Jane says, "maybe it'd be more comfortable if –"

"_You_ shut up," I say, cocking my eyebrows in her direction, "if you get to bring the tax collector, I get the crappy car."

–xxx–

Immature.

–xxx–

Charlie widens his eyes a little and snaps his fingers, and I'm slightly surprised that he doesn't shout 'Eureka!' to complete the effect. "You know, we could use my car," he says, gently, as if afraid to anger me. Which he fears rightly. Of course. "It would save us all some money, it's spacious, but it's appropriately crappy ..."

"Shut up, PR Guy," I snap, "you don't want a second strike, do you?"

–xxx–

Crass.

–xxx–

"I think all Charlie's trying to say is –"

"_Jane,"_ I scold, and I know that she's the only one who can tell I'm joking. And I'm not even sure if she's sure. "Remember where you stand. You're no better than your lovely friend Charles." She blushes, and I shoot her a quick, wry smile to make sure she knows I'm joking. "Now come on, where's Ernie?" I can almost sense Jane opening her mouth. "Shut up. We're buying this car."

–xxx–

Stubborn.

–xxx–

"I was just going to tell you that I fully support your opinion," Jane says, her face deadpan, and I roll my eyes.

"Of course you do. Go get Ernie."

She turns to go, shaking her head at me as she walks, and Charlie, obviously fearing for her safety on the long journey across the car lot, decides to chase after her. I'm about to snort, but Darcy beats me to it. After a moment of complete silence, I slap at a bug on my arm and turn to him.

"Excited?" I ask, my voice high pitched and exaggerated to a point of ridicule. He looks at me for a moment, as if surprised I'm talking to him, let alone poking fun at his stoicism..

"Hardly."

Wow. That's shocking. I might just have a heart attack.

He continues to look at me. I bristle a little, feeling self conscious, and I pull my hair up again. After a moment, the elastic snaps from the strain of holding back The Monstrous Frizz (TM). Frustrated, I let out an exasperated sigh and turn to him. "Do you have a problem?" I raise my eyebrows.

"What do you mean?"

"The question's kind of self-explanatory," I say. "But that's okay. I have to work with special children sometimes. I'll accept you for who you are, truly." There's a blank, impassive look on his face, but there's a light in his eyes that flashes and tells me that he heard me, and he understood. "No, seriously. Is there something wrong with the car? Me?"

He turns away, fingering the crackberry in his pocket. "No," he says, more to himself than to me. "Nothing."

–xxx–

Okay.

And maybe a _bit_ pretty.

But that doesn't make up for anything.

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**A/N:** Wow! Thank you so much to the people who reviewed. Really, I love you, and I apologize for the shortness/relative badness of the chapter. I'm not sure how happy I am with this story in general (I'm up to chapter five and kind of 'meh' ... this is what happens when I decide to do things like this just to avoid an English essay), but I really love those of you that _are_ happy with the story in general, because that's awesome. THANK YOU.

For those who review: .com/watch?v=BGPi0NPzvkY  
For those who don't, but are instead stalking. (I KNOW WHO YOU ARE. Fictionpress tells me things now. I'm excited.): .com/watch?v=BGPi0NPzvkY please wait for the last message.

To users who reviewed: hope you got a review reply! gosh darn it, I love those things. They keep me so entertained during Chemistry. (got that? You guys are more important than chem. be proud.)  
To non-users who reviewed: I LOVE YOU. Really. Join so I can tell you how much I love you individually.


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